Getting to know the enemy...

One of the things I cherish most about the Christian Book of Concord is how very much the authors seem to understand weakness, especially anguish and terror.  Facing such is not presented as a possibility, but rather as common reality.  Of course, this is because our church fathers recognized that we are in the cross hairs of an implacable, relentless assassin of faith.  One whose attempts to destroy life range from stealth attacks to shock and awe campaigns.  One who uses the world, our friends and neighbors, our bodies, and even our own minds in his assaults.  They understood.  They knew.  And so compassion and consolation are laced throughout our Confessions.  And they are equally implacable about keeping Law and Gospel separate, never burdening the anguished soul with Law when it is the balm of the sweet, sweet Gospel needing application to the wounds she bears.

Many a thought chase themselves through my head these days.  Varied ones and ones that return again and again.  For example, I have come to the conclusion that we simply do not recognize how commonplace it has become to force ourselves, our ideas, our advice, and even our piety upon others.  And if anyone dare point this out, they are shouted down...oft angrily...with the specious rejoinder that the offender has only the best intentions.

That's a lie.
We are sinners.
We never have only the best intentions.

And good intentions do not absolve or justify harming another with our force. They are merely a false veneer, an inadequate bandage we try to place over the wounds...sometimes gaping...we inflict upon others.  Not understanding that we are doing so is no excuse.

But that is not what is on my mind at this moment.  Fear is.

I am sure Fred could tell me if I have blogged about fear before.  I am sure that since I am oft afraid, oft overwhelmed by terror, fear has been woven into some of my entries.  And I know that I wrote about night terrors.  But I am not sure if I have ever really tried to capture fear itself in this online memory of mine.

I want to.  Very much so.  Only I do not believe I have the words yet, for what I want to say.  Perhaps, this shall be another series of entries until I find the right words.

For me, fear has been primarily about overwhelming me, oppressing me, crippling me.  Fear has been the gigantic monster from the most terrifying cheesy sci-fi made-for-TV movie possible.  Fear has been the dogged pursuer who chases me through alleys and caves, over mountain tops, across oceans.  Fear is the terrifying, impending natural disaster.  Fear is the Class 6 hurricane or the 12.0 earthquake.  There is no escaping fear.


For the past two months, Bettina has been reading this book to me and with me and for me: The Courage to Heal. Of late, I have posted a few quotes on Facebook. Below is the one I chose about fear:

Often fear accompanies the unfamiliar and exciting leaps we take in life. It's the feeling that makes your knees shake the first time you sing in public, when you apply for a job you really want, or when you confront the person who abused you. When you do something new and challenging, you need that energy. It's adrenaline. Often women feel this kind of fear when they are taking absolutely the right steps for themselves. It can help if you recognize that this feeling might not be purely fear. It may also contain excitement, exhilaration, hope, and uncertainty about new endeavors.

Fear doesn't have to stop you. Even if you're afraid, you can still go ahead and make the changes you want. You just do it anyway. You do it afraid. You do it nervously, awkwardly. You shake or sweat. You are not graceful or composed, but you do it. This is the definition of courage (p. 207).

I found it interesting that the authors turned fear into something positive.  I still do.  And I believe that thinking about fear from such a foreign perspective (foreign, at least, to me) helped me to make a connection to the Gospel.

A while ago, I wrote a blog entry about how the Gospel does the clinging.  To be honest, it is one of my favorite thoughts to myself and one I wish I was reminded of more often.  I need to hear that, be reminded of it.  Anyway, I suppose another recurring theme of thought has been the idea of clinging.  

I have come to believe that it is important to understand the things in our lives, even the frightening, overwhelming, and horrifying ones.  Understanding them helps us to process them or simply to endure them.  Understanding takes them from inside of us and makes them external, makes them an outward thing that we can consider and face in an objective sense, rather than as merely another personal failure.

For me, I have been trying to understand some of the fears within me, the fears felling me.  And in doing so, I have realized that there is another aspect of fear to understand.  Fear does not merely overwhelm or batter you.  Fear is not always this violent storm, this great and terrible and obvious monster.  Fear sometimes is a silent, subtle foe, one cloaked in near invisibility.  Fear sometimes merely clings to you, almost like a comfortable piece of clothing that you forgot you were wearing.

Sometimes the reactions, the responses, the thoughts, the feelings I have are actually born of a fear that is clinging to me rather than a monster or storm that I am battling.  Fear I have not even noticed.

I believe that understanding this, learning to recognize this, is important.  One concrete example is that the smell of beer sparks fear within me.  I have avoided that smell, places and people and events where it might waft my way, my entire adult life.  Perhaps recording the why is not important.  I doubt I shall ever forget.  For me, in my life, the smell of beer means pain and betrayal and shame are coming my way.  

With the PTSD, my response to the smell of beer has become a very physical one.  The magnification of it, however, has been a blessing in a way.  For I am not sure I would have ever noticed this particular fear was clinging to me in such a way that has affected both social interactions and my mental/emotional balance for most of my life.  

But it is not only the smell of beer.  In many ways, I am discovering many things I that I do or say or think or feel not in fearful response to what is happening in the present--its potential outcome--but to what has happened in the past.  To what is over.  To what is not now...even if my body is reliving it.  Even then it is not now.  Even then I am still safe.

Fear can be a healthy thing.  After all, it is fear that leads us to not stick out fingers into fire.  We fear the pain and damage that comes from being burned!  And we rightly should fear our foe and the impact sin has on our lives.  We even fear God.  

I have always been taught that the latter means to respect God as a god and all that entails.   I suppose I am trying to say that I am in the process of respecting fear and all that it entails.  But unlike the Gospel, which will never let me go, the fear that clings to me can be conquered.  It can be pealed away. It can be shed in one fell swoop.  Or it can be made powerless by acknowledging its presence and remembering that no reaction or response, no thought or feeling, born of fear negates the fact that I am baptized.   

I am forgiven.

I am loved.

And I am whole, pure, and without blemish.

Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief!